


Aftercare

by BM Vagaybond (MintSharpie)



Category: Rooster Teeth/Achievement Hunter RPF
Genre: Fake AH Crew, Freewood - Freeform, Gen, Hallucinations, M/M, drugs and alcohol, general grossness, shower
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2015-02-14
Updated: 2015-02-14
Packaged: 2018-03-12 07:48:19
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 976
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/3349289
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/MintSharpie/pseuds/BM%20Vagaybond
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>In which the deadly Vagabond is secretly a sweetheart.</p>
            </blockquote>





	Aftercare

Gutters are not, as a rule, particularly nice places to sleep, but on this night Gavin was too wasted to remember. To be honest, it would be a miracle if he was aware of anything whatsoever. Half of his shirt wasn’t his trademark purple anymore: it was covered in spilled liquor and the slime of the street a block away from the club. More than a few hallucinogens swirled in his bloodstream, making the grimy pavement seem to twist and warp into a vortex of terrifying shapes. Closing his eyes only made it worse, but at this point he could barely keep them open at all.

He had no sense of how long he laid there, breathing laboriously against the asphalt, before a sound like the rhythmic crack of bones and pounding of drums began thundering in his head. It got steadily louder and louder, then faster and faster too, until it seemed his skull would surely split from the agony – and then it stopped.

“Gavin?”

Suddenly an irresistible force pressed against his side, flipping him over onto his back. A vividly painful light burned through his eyelids like the sun; the sensation of something looming over him made him recoil weakly.

“Jesus Christ.” The voice would have been familiar had it not been filtered through layers of alcohol and drugs. Instead it echoed harshly, deep and threatening as a bottomless crevasse. Gavin clapped his hands over his ears and cowered, trying to curl into a ball. In his mind a huge, black, skull-headed monster grinned at him, reaching out with a hand wreathed in flames. He whimpered.

Ryan hauled the wastrel off the ground with a grimace hidden behind his mask – Gavin _reeked_ , and could hardly stand. The larger man sighed, and tossed his crewmate over his shoulder like a sack of potatoes. He’d been on his way home anyway; this development just meant he’d take the shorter path.

Nobody bothered them as he stalked through the streets. The people who were out at this time of night knew to avoid Ryan, and police didn’t come to this neighborhood anymore. Gavin shivered in his arms, having what sounded like a spectacularly bad trip. Throat too tight to scream, he could only keen pathetically. Ryan strongly considered knocking him out, but his apartment was close now and it wasn’t worth the effort.

Navigating the rear door of the building was a little tricky with the Brit squirming so much. Ryan propped him up against the wall for the moment, turned the first key in the lock and pulled back the sliding steel grille. A second key opened the heavy door, which always stuck in its frame a little and needed an extra shove. Keeping a foot in the jam, he retrieved Gavin and laid him inside, then closed the bars and door behind them.

The hall was too narrow to sling Gavin over his shoulder again. Ryan contented himself with grabbing the back of his collar and dragging him like a corpse along the grimy linoleum towards his corner apartment.

As soon as he’d gotten them inside and locked his door, he heard an unpleasant gurgle. With lightning speed he pulled Gavin into the bathroom, positioning him over the toilet just in time to intercept a hefty stream of vomit. Instantly the small space filled with the stink of alcohol and bile.

Ryan sighed, pulling his mask off with one hand and holding Gavin up with the other. It was going to be a long night.

Gavin threw up four more times. When he was finally done Ryan lowered him to the floor and flushed the toilet, then stood, pondering what to do next. It would probably take a few hours for the poor fuck to sweat through whatever mad trip he was on. Honestly he probably deserved to lie there on the tile until he woke up cursing his life, and Ryan had half a mind to let him. But Gavin released a particularly miserable whine, and the hitman’s cold heart melted a bit. They were somewhat more than friends, after all.

He stripped off his leather jacket and black shirt, then turned on the shower and let the hot water come up. With hands far gentler than usual, Ryan unbuttoned the filthy silk shirt and peeled it off Gavin’s quaking torso. Next came the sadly defaced Italian shoes, gray slacks, and – were those piss-soaked boxers made of _satin_?

“You’re a ridiculous little shit, you know that?” Ryan muttered, tossing the clothes behind him. He’d probably have to burn them later, with the mess they were covered in.

He transferred Gavin delicately into the bathtub. Warm water beat on him and the frail, tanned body in his arms. There was no response from the Brit – his head rolled to the side against the cheap laminate as Ryan began to wash the grime off him. Soap, dirt, and greasepaint spiraled down the drain.

It was a good thing Gavin was finally unconscious, Ryan thought. The sight of his face dripping black would probably scare the poor coked-out kid to death. He scrubbed briefly around his eyes to remove the oily pigment, rinsed them both off, and twisted the knob to cut the water. A final weak stream dribbled from the showerhead.

Ryan dragged the limp heap from the tub and back onto the floor. He dried them both, impassively running the fluffy towel over Gavin’s body, then roughly tousling his hair with a mischievous smirk. When no more water glazed the younger man’s skin, he lifted him once again and carried him, bridal style, to lay him gently down on the creaky boxspring mattress.

“No puking in my bed, got it?” he admonished, despite knowing Gavin couldn’t hear.

He shook his head, arranged the covers with something like tenderness, and retreated to the couch to sleep.


End file.
